


Rehabilitation

by VoltageStone



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bubbline, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-08-02 13:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16306388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoltageStone/pseuds/VoltageStone
Summary: Marceline should've graduated and gone on with her life. But, instead, she's back at the beginning of senior year all over again. And this time, she's chained to another, less-than-welcoming, girl—Bonnie. And thus her rehabilitation begins...





	1. Chapter 1

**_No One's Perspective_ ** **_-_ **

The sun had breached through the dark blinds, showering the room in shredded light. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Not the posters that littered the wall. Not the laundry spread about. Nor the bundle of blankets on the bed. Not even the hand that slammed itself against the ringing alarm clock, awaking the very annoyed person from underneath the blankets. She groaned and blinked her dark, brown muddled with red eyes irritably.

Shoving the blankets aside, she stretched, running a hand through her wild, lengthy raven hair. After a few moments of sighs, the young woman strode across her room and began to pull out ripped, black jeans and a dark shirt. As she began to shuffle through her rack of buttoned shirts, a call came from another room. "What?" she hollered back. After no answer, she snapped, "What do you want, Marshall?"

Her bedroom door opened, revealing a young man with black hair strewn about wildly, identical eyes wide in surprise. "Wow, didn't expect you to be up."

"Well, there's the alarm," she grumbled, tugging a grey buttoned shirt over her shoulders. "Now what do you want?"

Marshall crossed his arms across his lean, broad shoulders and arched a brow. "It's seven-thirty."

"So?"

" _So_...school starts at eight. And you can't be missing the first day." The girl snorted, scooping black Converse from a pile of odd things. "Wha— _Marceline_!" He scowled, turning as she strode through the door. "You can't be doing this again! You shouldn't be!" He followed her to the stairs as she sat down, pulling her shoes on.

"Relax."

"Relax? Your first day of senior year was _last_ year!" he said. "And I was able to graduate, and—and I'm younger than you!"

"Oh shut up! Thirty minutes, just _thirty_ minutes younger," Marceline growled. "And if you'd listen, you'd know I don't have first period."

"What?"

Marceline rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I don't. I have second schedule. My first period's at nine." Marshall didn't look convinced. Marceline scoffed, then fished her schedule from her back pocket as she stood.

Marshall caught the paper flung to him as Marceline bounded down the stairs. "Huh...alright then," he mumbled to himself. "Hey, wait, Marceline!" He scrambled down the stairs, jumping the last three. Marshall jogged his last steps to the kitchen where his twin scoured the pantry for anything good to eat. There wasn't much besides _Raisin Brand_ and oatmeal. She took the cereal. "Okay, so I still want to talk to you."

As she collected her bowl and spoon, Marceline said, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Not right now." Marceline sent a firm glare. Marshall raised his hands. "Look, it's the beginning of the school year, so it'll be easy now."

"Marshall..."

"I'm just saying that you'll ditch and go off again later on!"

"We already talked about this!" Marceline hissed. "Yeah, yeah," she waved her hands, pouring milk into her bowl, "I'll be good in school and you'll focus on getting all the money we need. Deal. Okay. Can we be done now?"

Marshall groaned as his sister slipped around him once again, this time with a spoonful of cereal close to its expiration date in her mouth. "No! It's not good enough, Marcy!" He stomped, realizing how foolish he must've appeared with the look Marceline just gave him. After all, arguing with a stained, black tank-top and long, blue boxers wouldn't be favorable. "I know dead certain that I'll hold up my end of the deal, but I need to know that _you'll_ hold up your end."

"What, you don't trust me to go to school?"

"Frankly," Marshall said, watching as she halted in the middle of the stairs, "no. Not really." Marceline rolled her eyes and continued to storm up her room. "Hey! Last year you were the one that was supposed to set up a good example for me! Simon said s—"

"Don't talk about him!"

The house grew silent. Marceline stood at the top of the stairs, seething. She ignored the closed, double doors at the end of the hall and snarled, "I _did_ help you last year, right? You graduated and I'm going back to that hellhole this year. _Right?_ "

"Well, yeah—"

"So quit asking me to do something that I already promised I'd do!"

Marshall smartly clamped his mouth shut. He nodded slowly, and heaved a long breath. "I— I know, I know. I just want to make sure you graduate like me... And—" He cut himself off, his hand gesturing towards the double doors. "And then you can go leave this town after...and not as a drop-out." Marshall felt the tension lessen as Marceline's expression softened. So he broke through. Nothing was thrown. _Good._

"Okay..." she whispered quietly. "I'll try, but I swear if you ask again—"

"I won't. I promise," Marshall said. He then held up a hand. "Boy Scout's honor...or something."

"Have you ever even been a Boy Scout?" Marceline smirked.

Marshall snickered, shaking his head. "Nope. But I've seen it in movies." Marceline rolled her eyes, then slunk back into her room. She gazed around, her light grin fading away.

It was going to be a long day. She could already tell.

**. . .**

Ooo High, much like the town, was small and usually quiet—aside from the ravaging gossip. It didn't matter much _what_ the gossip was, or _who_ it was told by, but the school was especially invested with talk and whispers.

And this morning, all attention was pointed towards a somewhat unknown face to the freshmen, sophomores, juniors and a small portion of the seniors. (Okay, essentially everybody besides the staff and the majority of juniors.) Marceline. Her presence was known and acknowledged immediately. Those who recognized her did a double-take and scrambled off, thus encouraging the wave of students that made their own cut in the crowd for Marceline.

Eyes and whispers were more abundant as she passed, reeking with intimidation and awe. It wasn't surprising, given her tall stature and wryly, snarky air about her. They quivered as her eyes scanned the lockers, slicing through their ego with the fiery flare within them.

But...Marceline was innocent (even though her amused smirk said otherwise).

She was just looking for her locker.

Marceline dipped her attention back to the small slip of paper in her hand, one that she'd gotten from the office that morning. _374_. She glanced across the hallway. The lockers were all in the two-hundreds. _Damn, wrong hallway..._ Marceline grumbled quietly, then turned abruptly around. At the sight of a small freshman in front of her, she couldn't help herself. She grinned tauntingly towards him, receiving a nervous, weak smile in return. She snickered to herself, and went along her way. It was quite an amusing sight seeing the poor freshman almost piss himself.

Once she made it to the right hallway, the audience was still the same. How lovely. Her eyes followed the lockers again: 358, 360, 362, 364, 366, 368, 370, 372...

"Yeah, I heard she came back."

"What about her brother?"

"No, he wasn't the one doing drugs, remember?"

"OH! Did you hear about her DUI's? I heard she got seven of them!"

She arched a brow, and watched the small circle converse. Marceline analyzed all of them briefly: an Asian student who looked to have been transferred (judging by her notebook scrawled in Korean), a gangly blond with a white beanie, another blond more stocky with the beginnings of a beard, a girl with thick, curled hair and a set of curvy hips, and another girl with long, light ginger hair.

"Oh yeah!" the stocky blond said. "Did she sell too?"

It was the girl with ginger hair who noticed Marceline first. Her grey, sharp eyes widened as her lips pursed. "LSP," she even hissed.

"What?" The curvy girl halted in her DUI rant and turned towards the ginger. "Anyway," LSP continued, "Britney said she saw her a few months ago being arrested for that DUI. Seven of them!"

"Awww," Marceline chuckled, her arms wrapped around the two blonds' shoulders. "I didn't do _that_ bad, did I? Only seven, you say? And _drugs?_ Damn, gotta add that to my bucket list now." The two boys immediately yanked themselves from her arms, leaving her to snicker, a twisted smirk across her lips.

"As I was trying to tell you," the ginger hissed to LSP, "she's _right_ there."

LSP huffed, glaring at Marceline. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh..." Marceline looked around innocently. "Getting an education like you."

"No, I mean _here_. We're not friends."

"We aren't ei—"

"Shut up Bonnie," LSP murmured to the ginger. The ginger—or _Bonnie_ —merely rolled her eyes and shook her head. LSP blinked towards Marceline. "Well...?"

Marceline shrugged. "Just waiting until people get out of my way."

"Um," the blond with the beanie started, "but there's the hallway space over there."

Marceline smirked, muttering, "Well not even _I_ need that much space for my locker."

The stocky blond shifted his dark eyes to the locker beside him, realizing the space with the lock missing. "Oh, uh...here you go. We'll just—" The bell shrilled loudly. "We'll just go to class! Come on!" He nervously ushered the Korean student, LSP and the other blond away as Marceline fixed her lock on the locker door.

Bonnie lingered, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What..." Marceline murmured, "can't help but stare? I'm not some art exhibit."

She only sighed, asking quietly, "What class do you have next?"

Marceline arched a brow. "Chemistry..." Bonnie only hummed to herself, only then responding to the blond's nervous calls for her.

"Okay, I'm coming Jake!" she called. Marceline chuckled to herself, then meandered through the halls for her first class.

**. . .**

Senior year, at the very least, was shorter. Only five classes were _needed_ : English, Chemistry, Calculus, Economics and Government. At least for Marceline, anyway. In Economics, she leaned back in her chair as the class conversed with one another, nobody willing to bring any conversations to her. Not that she minded. Marceline enjoyed the blond—Jake, by the sound of it—and LSP's conversation a table away. It wasn't anything important, and certainly not about her. Jake kept a hesitant eye on her at all times.

Over the noise level in the class room, it was somewhat of a wonder how the teacher heard the telephone speaker. "Yes?" he called, silencing the room.

 _"Yes, hi. The principal would like to send up Marceline to the front_ office."

"Oh," he said as the class erupted in whispers, "now?"

 _"Yes_ _please."_

"Alright, thanks." The speaker died. "Okay, Marceline? Go to the office...and bring your stuff. It won't be long until school's done."

"Alright," she mumbled, slipping from the class eagerly. Even though the classes were easy that day and there weren't many to begin with, she still felt tired of it all. And to think she had months and months to go...

Her trip to the office didn't take long, especially since she knew her way to the principal from every corner of the school. It was a badge of honor in some respects. Marceline went through the main office before finding her destination, and pulled on the handle. The door eased to a close behind her, the principal watching her from his desk. He was a heavily built man, his dark hair already balding and hard eyes focused as a hawk's from behind thinly framed glasses.

"Her?!"

Marceline, startled, jerked her attention to Bonnibel. "What?" she snapped as Bonnibel stood from the seat in front of the desk.

"Bonnibel, take a seat," Principal Boston ordered. "Both of you, actually." At that, the two obliged, settling in the large armchairs before the desk. The man took a deep breath before exhaling calmly. "If you haven't met properly yet, Bonnibel, this is Marceline and Marceline, this is Bonnibel." The two girls only glanced at each other. He cleared his throat. "In any case, the two of you will be paired together for the year. Bonnibel will help you, Miss Abadeer, with school."

Marceline shook her head. "I don't need tutoring. And I don't need _her_ following me around all the time."

Principal Boston frowned. "It's not _just_ for tutoring. May I remind you that the actions you've presented last year—if you were here—should've had you expelled."

"But you're the principal, aren't you?" Marceline murmured.

"Excuse me?" he snapped.

Marceline arched a brow, and dropped her trickster smile. It was then, with the steely look in Marceline's eyes, when Bonnie understood why Jake was afraid of her; she wasn't to be crossed by any means. "You're the principal. Principal's expel students. So..." A sincere curiosity hit Marceline at that moment. "So why didn't you?"

Principal Boston crossed his hands together. "I am in belief that students who struggle with obvious pressure should be given a second chance. _But_ , now that you're testing that philosophy, I don't think it's strong."

Marceline's stare hardened, though her lips were wisely pursed. Bonnie's, however, weren't. "This is why I can't do this!" she growled. "Dad, what am I supposed to do with her? She won't listen to anybody!"

"Bonnibel, you're already on thin ice. Do _not_ push it."

"Why her?! Why not anything else?" she continued as Marceline leaned back in her chair, intrigued.

"I said don't push it!" Principal Boston snapped. "As your principal, I may consider, but as your father, I will not. You are going to make sure Marceline here doesn't screw up another year. Understand?" Defeated, Bonnie slumped back into her seat. Her father's brows rose.

"Yes," she whispered quietly.

"Good. Go home now and we'll talk about this later," he said. "School will be done in a few minutes." Bonnibel was the first to stand and leave in one quick motion. Marceline barely caught the door as it began to close.

She turned to give one last look towards the unimpressed man. With a hitch of a grin, she said, "Nice tie."

"Marceline...get out." She snickered to herself before the door closed, leaving the principal to himself. He fiddled with his sleek, blue and green striped tie before mumbling, "But she isn't wrong though..."

Out in the hall, Marceline's smirk didn't die. Instead, it deepened once she found Bonnie at her locker. "Principal's daughter... I've heard about you last year? It figures that he'd set you up right by him." Bonnie's hard eyes switched to Marceline as the locker was slammed shut.

"I must be _really_ famous for somebody who wasn't even here seventy-percent of the time to know that," she replied.

Marceline chuckled quietly. "Oh, but I think it was sixty-percent."

"Would you knock it off?" Bonnie growled. Marceline grew quiet, folding her arms. "God," Bonnie breathed, "I swear it's people like you who piss me off the most."

"Oh, Miss Prissy's got an attitude." She stepped forward, internally impressed that the ginger didn't back away. If anything, she took it as a challenge. "And what," she smirked, brushing her hand at Bonnie's shoulder, "people like me?"

"Yes, and don't touch me," Bonnie answered, whacking Marceline's hand away. "And yes, it's the ones that think they have the whole world in their hands, but they won't be able to get a handful at the end of the day."

Marceline deadpanned, "How poetic."

"I agree, actually," Bonnibel said, striding away. She looked over her shoulder to say, "They're really emotional and quite tragic." By this point, Marceline's smirk had grown into a sneer, one that was just as cold and calculating as Bonnie's eyes. She gritted her teeth as Bonnie disappeared behind heavy double doors leading to the parking lot. And seconds later, students began flooding the halls, the bell shrieking from above.

This was going to be a long year. She could already tell.


	2. Chapter 2

**_No One's Perspective_ ** **_-_ **

Away from the populated center of the town sat a long, twisting road leading to large plots of land with grand, old establishments. At the top of a hill (though it wouldn't be known due to the rich blanket of pines) stood a beautiful white manor, brimmed with fountains, gardens and cozy benches. Of course, well-maintained as they may have been, everything was still riddled with shrubbery and withered stone. Nonetheless, the estate still was quite impressive with its history and family line.

And the youngest of them all was in her room, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed towards the fading pink walls that she so disliked. "And— And... _God_ , you wouldn't believe her Peps!" Bonnibel ranted, pacing up and down her room. "And to think that I have to work with her all year!"

Peps stood at the door, his pale eyes following her curiously with a small dish in his hands. He quickly adjusted his red tie and flattened it against his blue suit before murmuring, "Sounds like quite the problem..."

Bonnie halted in front of him. "I know! An—" Her eyes darted to the small glass bowl in his hands. "Are those the hard ones?"

The butler glanced down to his hands, the bowl filled with small, red-and-white candies—used just for emergencies such as this. "Of course not. You don't like the hard ones." As expected, Bonnie grabbed a small handful and wolfed the peppermint candies into her mouth. As she chewed, she went back to pacing and ranting. This time with an interesting, candy-induced accent.

"An' you 'ucking can' beliebe 'ow _co'y_ she is!" She swallowed, finding that the accent didn't suit her well. "I mean, _God_ , I've never met such a horrible person like that."

"And I bet you were quite the charmer," Peps grumbled. Bonnie narrowed her eyes as he chuckled quietly. Both then turned towards the call from downstairs. "Better not keep your mother waiting, eh?" She didn't argue. And so, with obedience, she swept from her bedroom and strode quickly down the stairs. Mrs. Boston—who had the same fair features as her daughter, aside from the hair—smiled and set the last plate on the table.

Peps stepped down the stairs a room away, and set down his bowl of peppermints. Mrs. Boston nodded to him as he passed, and then said, "I thought we can all sit and eat together, being the first day of school and all." Bonnie grinned and looked down at her plate of food. Pasta. Salad. Corn.

"Thanks Mom," she said, adding, "it looks good."

"Yes, it sure does," Mr. Boston agreed, sitting down at the head of the table. Once his wife settled across from Bonnie, silence filled the dining room as they ate. The food was good; the corn was ripe, salad fresh and the pasta home-made. Luckily Mrs. Boston was good in the kitchen. After finishing his pile of corn, Mr. Boston cleared his throat. "So Bonnibel, have you talked to Marceline after the meeting?"

Bonnie shifted, and felt her appetite slack. "Uh...a bit, yeah."

He arched a brow. "Tomorrow I expect you to get her phone number."

"What?"

"Tomorrow, yes. You need phones to organize things, right?" Bonnie blinked at him. "Studying? Helping her through this year? Yes?"

"Well...I— Yeah, I get that. But why me?"

The principal folded his arms. "What else are you doing this year?"

"I, well I'm...er..."

"Exactly."

Bonnie growled to herself and argued, "But I don't like her! She's so, so difficult!"

"And I don't like half the teachers at the school," Mr. Boston replied. "Liking doesn't mean you can't work with them."

"And who knows, sweetie," Mrs. Boston added, placing a gentle, motherly hand on Bonnibel's own, "maybe you'll become good friends."

Bonnibel pondered, and looked at her plate of food. Her appetite was lost. "I'm not hungry." She set her napkin on the table and walked away.

Mr. Boston made to call after her, but he was settled down by his wife. _Not a good time_ , her eyes said. Either way, he hollered, "You better finish your food tonight!"

"I will!" she yelled back from the stairs. Flustered, Bonnie whipped around the corner of the lengthy staircase, and stormed to her room. Couldn't she get _one_ hour without thinking about Marceline? With a groan that answered her own question, she knew what she needed: time and space. She yanked her door opened and let it close behind her, and stormed to her window. With the window now yanked open like the door, Bonnie rested her elbows against the window sill and sighed. As she gazed outside, the rusted but strong ladder beside her window came to the forefront of her consciousness. Oh how she wanted to go to the roof. But...

Bonnie glanced towards her bedside table, staring at the top drawer in debate. After a few moments of tapping, she slowly eased herself to the drawer before halting, shaking her head. She could go to the roof without... Bonnibel glanced back towards the drawer, her foot on the window and hands planted on the sides. No, she really needed it.

Quickly, the drawer was opened and she snatched what was inside.

**. . .**

Students trickled in every-so-often, as per usual for the first class of the day. Bonnie, being the principal's daughter and adamant to achieve high grades, was expected to be one of the first ones to take their seat. She didn't disappoint. As others came inside, they gave polite smiles (she was by the door, so it wasn't like she'd go unnoticed), though nothing more. As Bonnie sat there waiting, she reviewed all of her favorite quotes given by the passing students the year prior. These were her favorites: _Hey, I forgot to do it last night. Can you help me? Hey, you're the principal's daughter; can you do me a favor?_ And, above all else was _What's the difference between a science nerd and a geek? They seem the same to me._

Only Finn and Jake could ask such a thing.

Here's another good Jake quote: "Does Mr. Merck have a butt forehead, or is it just me?" Bonnibel snapped from her thoughts and stared at her new English teacher. She focused on his forehead (perhaps a little too hard) and couldn't help but agree with him.

She frowned and glanced to her side. " _Why_? Why notice that?"

Jake chewed the inside of his cheek. "I don't know. I was looking at him yesterday and took a picture to see if Finn saw it too. Definitely has a butt-forehead. Like, you can slide a credit card through that."

"Why do you sit next to me?" she groaned quietly.

Jake leaned over, and whispered, "Because I can."

"Excuse me back there, is there any questions?" The two lurched and flung their attention to the front of the room. Mr. Butt-head (er...Merck) raised his eyebrows. It only somewhat helped his condition. When they both shook their heads vigorously, he said, "Good. Well I'm doing the seating chart so I'll start with you two." He readied his pen and paper. Then waited.

Jake elbowed Bonnie in the arm. "Oh, uh, Bonnie."

"Last name?"

"Boston..." Quiet murmurs of the principal rose, which wasn't a surprise.

"Ah, so you're the princess of this school." That wasn't _exactly_ expected. She gave a nervous, odd laugh which earned a sea of snickers. Mr. Butt-head turned to Jake.

"Oh, Jake Doge."

"Like the meme?"

"Yes. Exactly Will, exactly." Another chorus of chuckles. The attendance, thereafter, too virtually no time, Mr. Butt-head not having the patience for a line of poor comedy each time. And then the second-half of the syllabus. That was a drag. Everybody was glad when the bell rang. Everybody was so glad that there was no surprise that Bonnie and Jake—the closest to the door—were the first to get out. English, to say the least, wasn't going to be a favorite.

"Alright, on to chemistry," Jake sighed, marching through the hall. "I would say another fun-fest, but you're going to get off in that class."

Bonnie lightly shoved him on the shoulder. "No I'm _not_. I just have a taste for—"

"Those busy, busy chemicals."

"Jake!" Bonnibel, however, laughed anyway. She couldn't have otherwise with Jake's pursed lips and shaking hips. They weaved through the crowd of students to their next class, which still had some straggling pupils walking out. Bonnie paused by the door and frowned; so did her dad. He flattened his tie and glanced at his daughter, then smiled briefly.

"Have a good day, kiddo."

"Thanks," she mumbled, and followed Jake who had already taken their seats—in the back. As Bonnie settled in her seat, the Chemistry teacher looked up from his desk.

"Hey, Bonnie?"

"Yes, Mr. Kalvin?"

He smiled gently and said, "You're father came in here. I'll have to move your seat to the front of the class." She hovered over her seat with a frown knitted across her forehead. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble."

_Oh, but yes I am..._

Despite her thoughts, Bonnie gathered her bag and swept to the front of the room after Jake gave her a pursed smile and shrug. She sat to the seat he gestured to, one desk over from his own station. Unpleasant ideas began to bubble in her subconsciousness, but she brushed them away and took out her binder. Of course, with her luck, her ideas were confirmed not a moment later; "Marceline, over here please," Mr. Kalvin said. Slowly, Bonnie turned to the door, where Marceline had stepped in. They locked eyes and Bonnibel scoffed while a smirk grew.

The seat in between Bonnie's and Mr. Kalvin's desk was now filled. "Oh hello, Bonnibel," Marceline greeted cheerfully, leaning back in her seat.

"Hey Marceline..." Bonnie grumbled quietly.

"Looks like we're buddies now, eh?" Bonnibel scowled as Marceline flashed strong, white teeth with a taunting—though charming, which Bonnie wouldn't admit—grin.

"Alright." The two girls gave Mr. Kalvin their attention. "As the others are coming in, can I see if you two had your syllabi signed?" Bonnibel pulled out hers, and tore off the last page that had both her mother's and her own's signatures. "Alright, thank-you," Mr. Kalvin murmured. "And you, Marceline?" As she pulled out hers, Bonnie noticed the already crumpled edges and long line where the corner was folded.

_God, it was just one night!_

"Uh..." Mr. Kalvin frowned.

"I'm old enough, aren't I?" Marceline said. "Come on, you had me last year."

"Some of it, yeah..." He sighed, and nodded wearily. "Alright," he began what was perhaps his favorite word, "I'll accept it. _Only_ because you're old enough."

"Thank-you."

He leaned against his desk and set the papers aside. The rest of the class spoke to one another, and he checked his watch. "Two minutes till... So, how're you two doing?"

"Fine," they both answered. They glanced at one another.

Mr. Kalvin chuckled. "You two ready for this year?"

"No." Bonnie rolled her eyes and glared at Marceline.

"What? I thought you'd be the one already prepared for college," Marceline said. Bonnie only huffed when the teacher chuckled, and moved on to another pair of students. She really wasn't ready for the year, was she?

**. . .**

The cafeteria, as always, was crowded and nauseatingly loud. Bonnibel with her friends only ventured in their to get their food and eat in the courtyard, as junior and senior tradition. There wasn't any talk, just the determination in getting a warm burrito (which didn't make it _good_ ) and dart out. While that was easier said than done, with the rowdy chit-chat going on, Bonnie made it out within a few minutes. Once out in the courtyard, she took in a large breath of fresh air and strolled to a small table where Jake and his younger brother—Finn—sat, arm-wrestling. As Finn was announced the victor (even with his noodle arms), Bonnie sat down with her tray.

"So...? I heard you have to be pals with Marceline," he said, easing back with a victorious grin.

Bonnibel heaved a long sigh, frowning towards Jake. "Hey man—" She arched a brow as Jake shrugged. "Look, it'll run through the school sooner or later. At least he heard from the best." She rolled her eyes as they chuckled. Jake then asked, "But how's it going so far?"

"Not"—she stabbed at her burrito with the fork—"great, thanks for asking."

"Whoa. Didn't expect it to be that...well, no, I did. Never mind."

"It's worse."

Jake frowned. "How? Your dad paired you up with a delinquent."

"Well," she replied, shaking the food off her plate, "my dad probably spoke to Howser and had my seat right next to her by his desk."

Finn snorted into his water. "What? The chemistry nerd has to sit close to the teacher?"

As Jake giggled, Bonnie sighed. "Well, _yeah_ ," she grumbled as Lady sat beside her, "that doesn't mean I want to talk to him...or her."

"Speaking of the devil..." Bonnibel's attention shot-up to Jake, who subtly pointed towards the edge of the courtyard. And, sure enough, by the pillars stood Marceline, eating out of her tray. Bonnie considered for a moment, and then stood from the table.

"Don't eat anything!"

"But," Finn asked, "what are you doing?"

"Just—" Bonnie exhaled. "I'll be back, okay? Don't eat my burrito!" She didn't have the chance to catch their confused expressions as she strode across the courtyard, veering the edge of the courtyard. "Hey," she said once close enough.

Marceline turned around and arched a brow. "What do you want, short-stuff?"

"I—" Bonnie crossed her arms. "You're not that much taller..."

Marceline blinked at her for a moment and snickered, "Yeah I am. I can see the top of your head."

"So?"

The disposable tray was tossed in the garbage beside her. "Anyway, what do you want?"

Bonnibel scratched the back of her neck, eyes darting about. Eventually, they flicked over Marceline's shoulder. Principal Boston. In the shadows. He nodded softly, egging her on. Bonnie pursed her lips and looked back to Marceline. "If this is going to work like the principal wants, then we need to have our numbers."

Marceline shrugged. "Alright. I'm nineteen."

"That's not—"

"Oh come on..."

There was a huff, and then a puff: "Eighteen next month."

Marceline hitched a smirk. "Coulda just said seventeen."

"That's not the point! I meant—"

"I mean, if I did that, I would've said twenty in...oh." Marceline counted on her fingers. "April."

Bonnie rolled her eyes and shot a quick glare towards her dad. He returned with a more warning one. "Phone numbers," she grumbled. "I mean _phone_ numbers." Marceline sighed, and turned over her hand. After a moment of debate, Bonnie surrendered her phone. Seconds thereafter her phone was handed back, and Marceline made to walk away. Though, Bonnibel grabbed her forearm, her own hand turned over. It was that moment when Bonnibel was first able to stare into Marceline's eyes. She expected to find dull brown, or like "coffee". But no, they weren't; instead, they reminded her of her reflection's eyes. Same bed. Different blanket.

The interaction was done once again, this time Bonnie handing Marceline's back with more force.

Bonnibel looked to her dad for any sign of approval, acceptance, _proudness_. But no. He nodded to her, eyes demanding. She scowled, which rose a pair of eyebrows. " _Wait_." Marceline halted behind her, a good few steps away. Bonnie turned. "Do you want to eat with us?"

Marceline snorted and—because she _was_ a good few inches taller—glimpsed over Bonnie's shoulder to find the principal staring. She leaned forward, down to Bonnibel's ear. "If this thing is going to work like the principal wants, we're going to do it _my_ way." Bonnie felt her teeth grit; she didn't know if it was because she liked the idea, or that she detested against the sheer cockiness of Marceline. Perhaps it was more of the former. (It definitely was.)

Even so: "Fuck you."

"Oh?" Marceline purred tauntingly. "Miss Prissy's up-and-at-'em again."

Bonnie jerked away and growled—hopeful that her father wouldn't hear, "Frankly I don't trust you, and I have good reason. Yes?"

Once again, Marceline's smirk dropped to a bitter scowl. "At least I actually socialize with people instead of having my dad follow me around with a principal mask all day. You'd rather have a flask and beaker stuffed up your ass and books down your throat, would you?"

Bonnibel couldn't take it. She didn't care if her dad, never mind the principal, was behind her. "You fucking _bitch_." (The people around her, though, did mind.) She glanced around as Marceline snickered, striding off with a mocking swing of her hips. And an added finger. What a bonus. Bonnie sneered to the back of Marceline's neck before storming to the table.

"Whoa," was what she was greeted with. Jake gave a nervous laugh. "Did she flip you off?"

Bonnie struggled to find words. And when she did, she shoved her food away. "I can't eat." With that, she marched away to the lockers, leaving Lady to jog after her and the brothers to eat the leftover food.

Same bed. Different blanket.

Same bed. Different blanket.

She could only ask, _What the hell crawled up in her sheets?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I've bee working on this story, but I'll tell you now I'm jumping around. Also...gonna be about 20-30 chapters. Also, I know where everything's going... 
> 
> Also, I hope you enjoyed.  
> :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! So, before I go to sleep tonight/tomorrow morning, I will have up to chapter 6 uploaded. I've been working on all of these chapters together. That said, I won't be updating this until I have an older story finally finished so that I can please the many followers on that.
> 
> Anyway, here's my holiday treat for you guys. Happy Holidays! (And for those celebrating tomorrow, the 25th, Merry Christmas!)  
> :)

**_No One's Perspective_ ** **_-_ **

Two weeks. It took two weeks for a text to be made, and then sent. And also to actually _talk_ outside of school. (And even in school, it wasn't much.) She didn't know why, but she suspected that the principal made her do it, over her shoulder.

 **Bonnibel B:**  
**We have that chemistry test**  
**on Thursday.**

Marceline was busy lounging in her desk chair, strumming her long, red base. She had found it in a thrift store, attracted to the axe head. (According to the store owner, it was apparently the remodeling of a hundred-or-so year old axe for a wood-working company.) And when she grabbed the phone, Marceline rolled her eyes.

_**So?** _

**Bonnibel B:**  
**Do you want to pass this**  
**class or not?**

_**...maybe.** _

**Bonnibel B:**  
**Okay. So we have to study.**

_**...alright.** _

**Bonnibel B:**  
**Marceline! This is**  
**important! It's the first**  
**test and it's 150 points in**  
**the gradebook.**

Marceline thought for a moment. Maybe she _should_ study the weekend prior. That was a lot of points, _and_ it was the first test of the year. And... She frowned, recalling the lengthy tests and scantrons all in one moment.

_**Fine. Are we studying today?** _

**Bonnibel B:  
Yeah. **

**Bonnibel B:**  
**Where do we study? Your**  
**house?**

She didn't answer for a few moments, having gone back to strumming on her guitar. And Bonnie didn't spam her with unnecessary texts. "At least she isn't a complete bitch," Marceline mumbled, once going back to her phone.

_**Okay.** _

Marceline splayed across her bed, eyes to the screen. She didn't add anything else. As expected, once the reply came, she snickered.

**Bonnibel B:**  
**Ok...so where's your**  
**house?**

_**In Montana.** _

**Bonnibel B:**  
**That's not very helpful.**

**_How come?_  
**

**Bonnibel B:**  
**Can you send me your**  
**address? That would be**  
**helpful.**

_**You're no fun.** _

**Bonnibel B:**  
**Is studying supposed**  
**to be fun?**

_**For you,** **maybe.** _

But then, she obliged and sent her address, which she double-checked a torn envelope for.

**_And when?_ **

**Bonnibel B:  
I'm free until ** **6:30.**

_**Come in an** **hour.**_

**Bonnibel B:  
Ok**

With that, Marceline tossed her phone to the corner of the bed and groaned. So Miss Prissy was coming over. To study. Perfect. And it wasn't as difficult as she had thought. But, then again, Bonnie wasn't a _complete_ bitch, so perhaps they can really work together. Maybe... She eased herself to her feet and meandered down the hall, and down to the kitchen. There, Marshall looked up from his small bowl of cereal—a glorious snack, in his book. "Hey, heard you playing a bit?"

"Yeah," she answered, shuffling through the fridge. The cereal was replaced with other microwave-foods, though nothing else promised them a meal. She sighed and closed the fridge; it wouldn't do good if she ate their dinner already. "By the way, we're going to have company over."

Marshall frowned. The last time they had company over was...however long it was. And even though he couldn't quite place when that was, Marceline's guests weren't all that pleasant. "Uh...who?"

"The principal's daughter."

"Bonnie?" Marceline arched a brow. "She was in my mechanics club. She was in a _lot_ of them last year, actually... Quite the whiz," Marshall explained. "I didn't talk to her much though. Which, begs the question, why is she coming over to this shit-hole?"

"To study for the first test this semester."

"Oh, you're going to need that."

Marceline's eyes narrowed. "I already took it—last year. And I know chemistry, yeah?"

"Oh I'm not saying you _don't_ ," Marshall said, "but when's the last time you actually took a test?"

"Wouldn't make a difference."

"Would it? Test taking and knowing the material are two different things," Marshall stated pointedly. He raised his hands. "Just saying." As she rolled her eyes, Marshall went back to his cereal, finishing the milk. "Oh, and another thing, how do you know her?"

Marceline crossed her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, nothing _bad_ , but you are you and she is she...you know?" She did know. She really, really did.

"Principal Boston wants her to guide me throughout the year."

" _Oh_ , so this is a long-term thing." Marshall shifted in the stool. "I think this'll be good for you. It'll help, right?" Marceline shrugged.

"I don't know." Marshall didn't argue back.

**. . .**

When she rolled onto the street, many things about Marceline made sense. Ooo Village (even though it was growing quickly) was a safe place. For the most part. There were some streets that Mr. Boston had warned her daughter not to wander through, and Marceline's house was on one of those streets. Bonnibel somewhat nervously parked in front of Marceline's small house, and gazed down the road. At first she was happy to see some green. Though, on closer inspection, the majority of it wasn't grass, but weeds and some littered trash.

As she stepped up to the front door, Bonnie felt a bit better knowing that the Abadeer house _did_ have more grass than weeds, even if there were overgrown shrubbery and dry patches. She rang the doorbell and adjusted her bag hanging from her shoulder. The door was answered right away. "Hey...Bonnibel?"

"Yeah." She smiled politely. "And you're Marshall?" she asked, stepping into the house.

"Yup," he confirmed. "So are you in Mechanics' Club this year?" Marshall asked for a polite conversation.

Bonnibel appeared somewhat uncomfortable and swallowed. "No. I'm not in any at all actually."

Marshall frowned. "Really? I thought you liked them."

She nodded and said, "I do, I loved them but... It's a money thing."

"Oh." He sounded surprised. "Not to be rude," he rushed, "but I didn't think that was a problem for you."

Shrugging, Bonnie murmured, "Y-yeah, it's not for my family. But I... It's complicated."

"I see," Marshall replied. "But are you doing the science convention at the end of the year? Your engine from last year was really cool."

"Thanks." Bonnibel smiled once again, feeling more welcomed inside the house rather than outside.

"What did it run on again? Salt water?"

"Yeah."

Marshall bobbed his head. "Sweet."

"What do you do now?" Bonnibel asked.

"Uh, I work at the Jimmy John's across from the elementary school in the same district as Ooo High, and then I'm an apprentice at this auto shop."

"That's nice," she mumbled.

He shrugged and grinned meekly. "Yeah. It pays the bills, you know?"

"Wait." Bonnie frowned. "You two live alone?"

Marshall made a sort of grimace. "Y-yeah... It's also a long story."

Bonnie didn't dig for answers. Instead, she turned at the sudden creaks at the top of the stairs. "Are you trying to make more friends, Marshall?" Marceline, at the top, looked just as unkept and graceful as she did at school, and Bonnibel didn't know whether or not to feel intimidated. She should've, she supposed, but didn't.

And neither did Marshall apparently. _Of course, he_ is _her twin,_ she rationalized.

"Yeah. You know, it's good to have friends," he replied with a cheeky grin.

Marceline rolled her eyes. "Oh fuck off. And where are you going?" It was then when Bonnie noticed his thin jacket in his arms.

"Getting dinner," Marshall said. "Do you want the roast beef or chicken?" With ease, Marceline strolled down the stairs and briefly glanced at Bonnibel before looking at her brother.

"Jimmy John's again?" she grumbled.

Marshall shrugged and went to the door. "It's the only place I get discounts at. Anyway, see you."

"Bye." The front door closed softly, and then the lock clicked with the jangle of keys. Marceline looked at Bonnibel, and sighed, "So should we go to my room then?"

"I guess..." Marceline somewhat grunted and started up the stairs. Bonnie couldn't do anything but follow. Once on the second floor, Bonnibel followed Marceline to a room down the end of a short hallway to a small, darker bedroom.

Bonnibel, to say the least, wasn't all surprised. She expected Marceline's bedroom to be like this: cheap blinds that covered the windows, dark sheets on the bed, posters hanging on the walls by tape or staples, a desk covered in papers and assignments due in the next few days, a large, red bass (which Marceline then picked up, and started strumming) and a few pictures cluttered on the side of her dresser—wait. She furrowed her brows curiously, and went to the dresser. The pictures were all framed, and obviously hadn't been dusted in a while, even though she could still see through the glass.

"You..." she started slowly, scanning a longer picture with a small crowd of people, and then an individual portrait to the side. Bonnibel found herself in the crowd, at the middle with Jake, while Marceline was at the very center. She wore the same smirk in the crowd as she did in the portrait. "You were in journalism sophomore year? Er... _my_ sophomore year?"

"Yup," Marceline answered dryly.

Bonnie frowned, and then vaguely recalled a simple line, to which Jake's fear of Marceline grew: _"I don't fucking care what you put in it, just so long as you teach people what you're interested in and it's interesting to read."_

She glanced back to Marceline, who was watching her, unamused. "You were the head organizer?"

"The _only_ one." Bonnibel swallowed as Marceline continued to strum, and looked at a few other framed pictures.

"And secretary in student gov.?"

Marceline gave a sour laugh. "Yeah, and then vice president before they kicked me off."

That was a memory that didn't take time to remember. It was an infamous day in junior year—Bonnie's junior year. Marceline had come to school different (it was never proven, though everybody agreed through gossip that she had been drinking) and ended her day with a screaming match with the new Principal Boston. A pumpkin was flung towards a wall, staining it orange. _"Don't make me call your guardian, Marceline!"_ her father had shouted as she stormed away.

 _"How the fuck are you going to do that if I can't even find him!"_ she snarled, her angry screams and livid tears ingraining themselves firmly within the school gossip. And Mr. Boston's blank expression had too, many students believing he was a pushover and spineless (that rumor, however, was quickly proven the opposite). As the principal's daughter—the princess of the school—Bonnie had the advantage of knowing just what was going through her father's mind at that moment. At dinner, Mrs. Boston was urging her husband to throw her out of school, away from the other students. Away from Bonnibel.

He only had this to say: _"No. I'll see that she won't do any harm but no. Marceline's always had hard edges, but there is something very, very wrong going on in that household. I'll talk to Marshall tomorrow and see what's wrong; I've heard some students say that he's been off too."_ He didn't get a lot from Marshall, however, besides a quick explanation that their adoptive father is a bit difficult, and he'll take care of Marceline.

Bonnibel barely had time to catch a man with greying hair and glasses in the last frame before it was slammed on the dresser. Bonnie jerked; she didn't realize that Marceline was behind her.

"I thought we were studying. Not going through my shit," Marceline hissed from behind.

"I'm sorry," Bonnie murmured, blushing. "I don't know what..." She turned around as Marceline backed away, returning to her strumming. "So I brought my notebook...what do you need studying on?"

"I understand everything. I think it's just brushing up on stuff," Marceline said, her tone indifferent.

"Okay. So...uh. We can start at the beginning." She flipped to the first page. "What are the parts of an atom?"

"Really...?"

"Yeah really."

"Neutrons, protons and electrons."

Bonnie nodded, though wasn't all that impressed; after all, it was probably the easiest part of chemistry. "Okay, so where are they?"

"The first two make up the nucleus, and the last one's the one that orbits the thing."

"And..."

"And what? Electrons barely have any mass? The valence shell is what interacts with other electrons? The periodic table is organized by the number of protons? Ions are the varying number of electrons and isotopes are varying number of neutrons?"

Bonnibel stared at Marceline, who continued to play with the bass, now impressed. "So you do know this stuff."

"Yeah."

"But did you do well on the tests last year?" It popped out her mouth before she could stop it, even if it was a genuine question. Bonnie was relieved that it didn't come across as bitchy, even if annoying.

Marceline sighed, and instead asked, "Is there going to be a scantron?"

"Yes? That's what he said in the beginning of the year. Mr. Kalvin uses them for tests," Bonnibel said. "Did he not last year?"

There was a groan. "No, but I fucking hate scantrons."

"They're not that bad."

Marceline paused, and stared at her. Bonnie couldn't decipher the stare. "You wouldn't get it," Marceline grumbled flatly. As she continued to fill the air with music, Bonnibel shifted uncomfortably. She sat there with her notebook, listening while flipping through the pages.

"Is that Johnny Cash?"

"Do you know your songs?"

Bonnie nodded. "Yeah, this one's the last one he did. _Hurt_?"

"Sure is."

Bonnibel finished flipping through her notes and asked, "When did you learn to play it?"

"It was the first song I taught myself to play... But," Marceline answered, frowning, "just ask me questions."

"O-okay. So why does oxygen have a bent shape?" Back and forth the questions went, the girls reviewing the notes. Songs changed whilst the air grew more relaxed, slowly. By the time Bonnibel left, she was torn between staying in the room that seemed to have grown on her, and leaving the horrible street behind. She didn't feel that for long though, instead driving away from the patchy lawns and to her manor without much thought.


	4. Chapter 4

_ **No One's Perspective** _ **-**

After her brisk, morning shower, Bonnie pulled her shirt over her head and collapsed on the bed. Briefly she debated whether or not to wear her Vans hoodie with her white shirt and grey jeans. It wasn't a hard choice to make. She sifted through her dresser moments later, and pulled out the dark pink jacket. Before slipping it over her shoulders, a quick thought ran through her mind. She searched for her phone through her bedsheets, and quickly sent a text.

_**Don't forget to study.** _

The phone buzzed once her jacket was put on, and her hand to the door. Not wanting to leave the message unread, Bonnie went back to her phone.

**Marceline:  
** **I am right now.**

_**Good.** _

She tossed it on her bed, and then strolled down the stairs. Bonnibel thought about her breakfast, ultimately deciding on a quick bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. As she sniffed the air, the ginger knew eggs and bacon were being cooked already—not for her, though. Bonnie was adamant on her cereal. As she entered the kitchen, she smiled once her mom glanced up from the stove. "Yeah, I know," Mrs. Boston continued, "I know Mom. Hey, Bonnie just stepped in, do you want to say hi?"

 _"Oh!"_ Bonnie's grandmother exclaimed from the phone set on the counter. _"Why hello dear, how are you doing?"_

"Good," she called, collecting her cereal and bowl. "I'm just making a quick breakfast."

_"Oh, alright dearie. You eat your breakfast. You'll need that to grow big and strong! I can't believe you're turning eighteen soon!"_

"Yeah..." Bonnibel said awkwardly, shuffling with her breakfast.

"I know," her mother continued the conversation. Bonnie set her things down at the table, where her dad was finishing his last few bites. He muttered his good-morning sweetly, and went back to his food. "I can't believe how time flies. Just looking at the kids in the old neighborhood on Facebook is just..."

 _"Yeah. And I learned from Babs the other day, you know Joshua? That nice little boy who'd always ride his tricycle around?"_ Grandma asked. Mrs. Boston hummed before her mother said, _"Well, it turns out he's a gay!"_

"You're kidding!" At that, Bonnibel paused and felt something lurch in her chest. She glanced towards the stove as her mom stood in wonder. With her eyes back to her bowl of cereal, she felt Mr. Boston grow tense, listening. "God, the amount of people that are coming out these days."

_"And they're all young too. Just confused."_

"Yeah. I mean, I would suppose a good amount of them would be actually gay, but honestly! Is it a trend?"

Bonnie stared at her bowl, revisiting old internal struggles. As her mouth began to water, she debated going to the roof for just five minutes. "Do you want me to take you to school?"

"Hmm? Oh, no thanks. I'll study for my test today," she answered, silently making up her mind.

"Okay," Mr. Boston said. "Good luck on that test, though I know you'll do well."

She nodded with a quiet smile, desperately ignoring the phone conversation. "Yeah. I'll go up now, actually. I'm not that hungry."

"Okay sweetie. I better get to school now, actually." With that, they gave each other a hug before going their separate ways—once cleaning their respective dishes. Bonnibel then quickly scurried to her room at the sound of the front door, went to her bedside table and climbed her ladder to the roof.

That was where she sat herself down with a tired sigh. This day was going to be a long one, that was for sure.

**. . .**

The room was silent, aside from the pencils to scantrons, and the flipping of the small test packet. Bonnibel glanced at the clock briefly, and then set her eyes back to the last page. _Thirty minutes left in class... I'm not rushing, am I?_ Of course she wasn't. She'd already flipped through the packet twice to double-check her answers. Perhaps she should stop stalling, and turn it in. With a breath of finality, Bonnie stood from her seat, and quietly made her way to the tray on Mr. Kalvin's desk with the scantron and packet. She flashed him a simple, polite smile before going back to her desk.

With nothing to do, Bonnie reached for her bag to grab...not her book. She frowned, hoping to find her novel sandwiched between two of her binders. Nothing. Bonnibel rolled her eyes and internally groaned; she left _The Golden Compass_ on the roof. "Damn it," she breathed. Though, on second thought, it probably would smell horrible. And with _that_ thought, she brought her fingers to her lips. Did she have her mints? As she reached for her backpack again, Bonnie realized she had also left her mints on the roof.

Again, near-silently: "Damn it." Bonnie also added, "Fuck."

She caught Mr. Kalvin's eye, and the arch of his brow. _Sorry_ , she mouthed. With truly nothing to do, Bonnie let her eyes wander around the room, watching the other students take their tests. Jake—from what she saw of him all the way in the back—looked fair, only appearing to be startled by a question once or twice. There was LSP, who played with her curls every now and again before dipping her attention back down to the paper. Mathew had stood up and walked his test to the tray. Josh stared at the test; he might as well have been reading hieroglyphs. Many students were like that, having underestimated the test.

But it wasn't hard, to Bonnie's opinion.

Then her attention landed on Marceline. Just as Bonnibel had sworn obscenities, Marceline quietly breathed the questions and answers to herself. And even though she was slower, Bonnie felt glad that Marceline would point to the correct answer ninety-percent of the time. But... She would frown, searching through the scantron. Bonnibel didn't like the scouring eyes, glazed with confusion.

After a spell of time passed, Bonnibel having torn herself away to stare at the walls, Marceline had finally turned her test in. She was the last one.

"Alright, class," Mr. Kalvin started, "you can all talk. We have seven minutes left."

Everybody blurted out to one another, asking how they think they did—almost everybody. Bonnibel looked to Marceline, who collapsed in her chair and dropped her head to the desk. There was a sudden urge to pat her on the back, or something. _Anything._

Bonnie didn't, though. Instead, she sat there awkwardly, waiting for the class to end.

**. . .**

"I never did get to ask you, how'd you think you did?"

Bonnibel jerked her attention to Jake, who sat with his arm around Lady's shoulder. "Oh, erm, good. I knew everything on it."

"Of course you did. _Nerd_." She smiled at the light chuckle from Jake and Lady. "If only I could be good at chemistry like you though. It's the only class I'm worried about—well, no, trigonometry too."

"Did you not do well?"

"I think I pulled off a B. But...if it's going to only get harder from here...oh boy."

"I think I did well too," Lady said softly. "It was not the hardest thing in the world."

"Yeah..." Bonnie felt herself drift from the conversation once again, eyes flicking across the courtyard. _Where is she?_ It wasn't like Bonnibel kept track of Marceline's spots every day, except when Marceline sat on the bench towards the furthest pillar on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays (Marie and her boyfriend took that spot Mondays and Wednesday), and sometimes she'd sit by the tree, and other times... Maybe she did keep track of where Marceline was regularly. Which is why she didn't know where Marceline was; the bench was empty and it was Thursday. She had seen her earlier, in line for food. And then Marceline had dipped away, down the hall instead of towards the courtyard.

"Hold on," Bonnibel unintentionally interrupted Jake's question. "Sorry," she said, looking at his face, "I'll be back. Don't eat—"

"Your food, got it," he finished.

Bonnie then set off on her quest. She trekked back towards the cafeteria, where it settled down now that the line was only three people. The freshmen and sophomores turned to her, intrigued. She ignored the stares and pushed through the double doors. The halls still had a few meandering students, all of whom weren't Marceline. As Bonnie briskly walked through the long lanes of lockers, she ticked off places where Marceline wasn't. Once she'd turn a corner to where water fountains were, and grimaced. There was Marie and her boyfriend's tongue down her throat.

"Really?" she asked, watching as they pressed against the water fountain, a stream of water soaking their sides. It was amazing that they didn't notice beforehand. Until now. Marie and—John? Markus? Donald?—her boyfriend turned abruptly, and eyes went wide at the sight of her. They scurried off. If there was one benefit to being the "princess" of the school, it was being intimidating without actually having any of those qualities. Without being someone like Marceline.

Which, speaking of the devil, was at the end of the hall, sitting against her locker. She walked, the padding of her steps barely echoing down the hall. "Hey," she murmured softly, standing before Marceline's black Vans. "You weren't at your bench today."

Marceline lifted her head, and took out the one earbud then hung it around her neck. "Stalk much?"

"Well— I _do_ have to keep an eye on you."

Marceline pursed her lips to a smirk that didn't quite crease the dimple on her cheek; the one Bonnibel found a little charming—not that she'd say that out loud. "I don't think your dad meant that kind of eye."

Bonnibel frowned and folded her arms. With a light blush across her cheeks, she said, "Well, I mean are you okay? You're not as much of an asshole."

"Oh, do you miss it?"

"Yeah if you're going to be a bitch." Bonnie exhaled quietly, and asked, "But, uh, do you want to come sit with me?"

As she stood up, Marceline scoffed and shook her head. "No. Your one friend would piss himself."

"Jake? He wouldn't mind." That was a blatant lie. Bonnie ignored how much she was trying.

"Oh come on. _All_ of your friends would. And you would too if you weren't stuck with me all year," Marceline growled.

Bonnibel attempted to find anything to retort but found nothing. It stung. "I- I'm just trying to help." She looked up to dark eyes. "What's going on?"

Before her answer, there was a moment of consideration. "I can't focus. I think I'm just going to ditch."

"No," Bonnie said immediately. "I need to keep an eye on you during government and calculus."

"Fine. Just leave me alone."

Bonnibel's expression flickered, and she tucked a strand of ginger hair behind her ear. "Okay then...see you."

"Yeah. See you."

**. . .**

She got a hundred. Bonnie smiled at her scantron, no ticks or red marks to be found other than the bolded score.

"Alright, class!" Mr. Kalvin announced. "For those few who need to retake the test, I'll host it next Wednesday. And—" The bell shrilled. "With that," he continued, "have a good weekend!" Everybody began to file out, chattering about their scores. Bonnie quickly tucked in her test as Jake strode up to meet with her. Before he got a chance to speak, there were a few bodies shoved out of the way.

"Whoa," Jake said. "Where's she going?"

Marceline.

Bonnibel frowned. "I...better catch up with her."

"Right." And so she made her way through the door, and out into the hallway. Instinctively, she turned left. Marceline had already turned the corner. So she was making her way outside. Bonnie felt a grizzly churn to her gut. This couldn't be good. She followed, pushing passed people with apologies as they scrambled off to their own classes. Within seconds, she was at the last hall, the exit right in her view. And the double doors were almost swung shut before Bonnibel reached the corner. "Oh God," she breathed, and jogged across the hall, swerving around freshmen who were hastily squirming for their classes. She fixed the strap of her bag once she halted yards from the door, panting whilst grey eyes quickly scanned the parking lot. There was an angry yell before a terrible crash. "Fucking hell," Bonnie swore as the crippled trash can remained toppled over the ground, garbage spewed across the road. She trotted over swiftly, just able to catch Marceline's wrist as she made to storm off somewhere else.

"Let go!" Marceline snarled, snatching her hand away.

"No, get back here!" Bonnie snapped back. "You just—" She gave another look at the trash bin, which now had a deep groove, the plastic bent awkwardly around the newly formed hole. "You just fucked up this trash can!"

"And I don't give a shit."

Bonnibel pursed her lips and gave a weak sigh. "That doesn't matter. You still have to clean it up, at _least_." Marceline ignored her, and stood at the edge of the curb. In her shaking hands was a yellow slip stapled to a single sheet of paper: the test. "Is that—"

"Would you just fuck _off_?!" Marceline spat, hurling the papers over her shoulder. Bonnie jerked and reached to catch it, fumbling as her bag slipped off her shoulder. With the test in her hand, she let the bag drop to the ground besides Marceline's.

On the yellow square of paper read the dates and times for tutoring, and another small paragraph detailing for a retest date. Frowning, Bonnibel lifted the paper, and grimaced: She read, in bold, **_28%_**. She then looked over and saw Marceline slumped on the curb, head burrowed in her arms as they hugged her knees. Bonnie slowly maneuvered to Marceline's side and asked quietly, "Did you...study?"

The answer was rattled: "Yes. You can even ask Marshall. He did it with me."

Bonnibel nodded to herself; she didn't find herself doubting the answer. Marceline lifted her head as Bonnie sat down, the test still in her hand. Grey eyes went back to the papers, and analyzed; the more she looked, the more strange the test was. Some answers didn't have anything bubbled in, but the rows above or below had two. There was even one answer with three bubbles filled in. As she looked back towards her side, Bonnie found herself more troubled to find Marceline's eyes glassy. "What's going on? You knew everything we went over. And..." She glanced back at the strange rows.

"I know, and I still understand everything. I just..." Marceline deflated, and sighed wearily. "Every fucking time I take a test like this, I either get a little note attached to it, or get pulled off to the side and am asked if I have ADHD."

"What? How can they... You don't have ADHD," Bonnibel said flatly.

Marceline scoffed. "And how do you know?"

"I know because—" Bonnie caught herself, and furrowed her brows in debate. "I know because I can tell and...because I've been tested nearly up to ten times."

"Are you serious?"

Bonnie nodded slowly, and whispered, "Yeah. Last year. Both of my parents decided to..."

"Why?" Marceline asked.

There was only a shake of a head and a shrug. "I will ask though," Bonnie further avoided, "are you dyslexic?" No verbal answer was given, though she noted the small nod beside her. "Can you not read some of the words then?"

"No...I mean, I'm absolute shit at reading," Marceline mumbled, "but words aren't really my issue. It's the fucking letters on their own. Like, I'll mix up the b's and d's together, and the e's and f's. I just fucking hate the scantrons. They're so hard to look at."

"Because it's just a block of letters?"

"Yeah, and everything just mashes itself together," Marceline agreed weakly. "And I've been able to get away with lightly writing the answers on the packet and then fill them in later. I still fuck it up, I _always_ fuck it up. But, with Mr. Kalvin right there and I can't—" She choked a little, and allowed her sentence to die in the air. Marceline inhaled and croaked, "I was able to pull of C's in his tests last year because I wrote on the packet, and he didn't walk to the back of the room... But now... I- I can't."

Bonnie blinked away the burn in her eyes. "Why didn't you just tell me? Anybody?"

Marceline's stare struck the ginger right to the chest. "Because I'm fucking done being looked at like I'm this freak. All my life because I've been a little different, a little too rough. I get why it's like that this year, I did that to myself. But for me to add on to that because I'm dyslexic? Imagine what people would come up with. I was destined to be a fuck-up because my eyes messes with words whenever they get the chance to?!"

"Marceline!" Bonnie gasped.

"What?"

She didn't know what to say, or where to begin. She didn't even know if she was ready to let her walls fall, even just a bit. So, Bonnibel only murmured, "You're not the only one...trust me what I say that."

Marceline grumbled in disbelief, "How?"

"I... There's things that would make my parents never look at me the same, okay? I understand. But if you're taking the fall for something you can't control, why not tell somebody?" Bonnibel frowned, and thought of what she had said. It didn't really cross her mind, but only spilled from her mouth. Though, once in the air, she felt hypocritical.

"What...?" Marceline muttered quietly.

"Nothing, I'm just trying to figure shit out like you."

Dark eyes flecked with red studied Bonnibel, and she shifted a little. They weren't glassy, however, and she felt a warmth of pride in her chest at that. Marceline hummed to herself, then said, "You're gay." Bonnie could only chuckle, and then nod lightly. "Who else knows? Other than it being a bit obvious."

With a small smile, Bonnie rolled her eyes. "Lady, Jake and Finn. That's it."

"Not your parents... You know, I don't think your parents would look at you like a freak."

"I know," Bonnie said. "I mean, my mom's the only one I'm worried about but...that—that wasn't really what I was talking about before. There's more to me than just being gay." Marceline pursed her lips, and her eyes continued to watch her; Bonnibel thought that she was being picked apart, every strand of her being searched through. And...she didn't really mind. "Anyway," Bonnie mumbled, "we should tell my dad at least. So that he knows that you're not slacking or anything."

"I guess," Marceline admitted slowly. "I'm just not sure that—"

"It's okay." Bonnibel didn't think about it, she only did. With Marceline's hand under her own, she said, "Look. Nobody's going to hurt you, okay? And if anybody's going to try and spread gossip, they won't with me. Princess of the school here."

A meek grin replaced the usual smirk. "Please never say that again."

"What?"

"Princess of the school?" Bonnibel giggled softly as Marceline gently shook her head.

Bonnie then got up, and offered a hand. "Come on. Let's go back and deal—"

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!"

There was no need for Bonnibel's hand. Marceline shot up from the curb as the two girls—alarmed—snapped their heads towards the school. Principal Boston stormed out, the stress of three stacks of papers and the abrupt news about a trashcan warming his face to a red hue. He looked at the bin and picked it up, trash littering the floor from the newly formed hole. His sharp, eagle-like stare cuts immediately to Marceline. "What is this?"

"I- I..." She couldn't find any words as they all became caught in her throat. As Mr. Boston folded his arms across his broad shoulders, his eyes hardened. "I kicked it."

"Why?"

Before Principal Boston could interrogate any further, Bonnibel cut in. "Wait!" Her father jumped, switching his attention to her. He became spooked by her shining eyes.

"Bonnie?"

"Dad, please. I know she wrecked it, but I could get a new—"

"You are at a limit, Bonnibel, let me remind you."

She nodded firmly. "I _know_ , but please. Just this once. Her test, she didn't do—"

"It doesn't matter who you are, Bonnie," he deadpanned. "You don't trash somebody else's property because of a grade."

"I _know_ , I know. Just this once, please. I'll or she'll replace it, just this once though, please."

He studied his daughter's gaze, the glassy eyes that rarely ever shed a tear—let alone express raw emotion. The principal slowly relented, and turned to Marceline. "Fine," he said, regaining his cool. "Miss Abadeer, if there is _one_ more situation like this, you will have a lot of time on your hands in detention. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Now get to class." Marceline quickly scooped up her bag, glanced towards the pair, and strode towards the school obediently. Neither father or daughter moved. Principal Boston saw the papers in Bonnibel's hand and cleared his throat. "Explain. Now."

She sighed, and looked up at her father's shining glasses.


	5. Chapter 5

** _No One's Perspective_ _-_ **

He fixed his glasses as Mr. Boston sat down, and gave a brief smile. "How are you doing, Carl?"

"Uh, good. How about yourself, David?"

"Good, thank-you. Are you doing anything over the long weekend?"

Mr. Kalvin leaned against the chair. "My wife wants to just stay home and relax. So I'm just thinking we could binge the rest of _Game of Thrones_."

"You're still not caught up?" David asked.

"No. We've been busy these past few weeks. Anyway, what about you?" Carl replied.

The principal shrugged. "I don't know, really. Maybe stay in with Elena and Bonnibel, or we'll go out and catch a movie. There's a couple of good ones out."

"That sounds nice."

Mr. Boston nodded, and then adjusted himself. "Anyway, I brought you here just to talk briefly about Miss Abadeer. I heard she had a rough test from Bonnibel."

"Yes," Mr. Kalvin confirmed. "It's the lowest I've ever seen it, but her tests from last year—the ones she did take—were never good."

"Right. I just have a quick question. How do you do all of your tests?"

"Just scan them in."

"Scantrons?" Mr. Kalvin nodded. "And, they can't write on the tests either?"

"If I catch them, I'll take what they have and grade it," Mr. Kalvin said, adding for clarification, "so I know they aren't cheating."

"Alright. That's a good standard," David mumbled. "So...I'm not sure you heard, but Miss Abadeer totaled a trashcan right after second period."

Carl's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That was her?"

"Yes... She was a bit frustrated." Principal Boston waved his hand, and continued. "Anyway, my daughter was with her and spoke to her a bit, and come to find out that Marceline doesn't do so well with the scantrons." Mr. Kalvin frowned in confusion, though didn't comment. The principal leaned forward a bit, and murmured in a low voice, "Bonnibel found out that Marceline has been tested for dyslexia and was determined to be so."

"That...that makes more sense."

"How so?"

"Well, it's just little things, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it. Anyway, her issue doesn't really lie in understanding the text on the test itself, it's transferring it on the scantron."

"Okay, okay... So, how has she done other tests with scantrons?"

"Wrote on the test, then copied her answer and erased the pencil marks."

"I see..."

Mr. Boston cleared his throat, and leaned into the back of his chair. "So, I was wondering if there can be any accommodations made so that Marceline can have a better chance to show what she actually knows."

Mr. Kalvin nodded. "Of course. And I'm giving her the chance to retake it next Wednesday. Just...would she have to have paperwork in case other students...?"

"Yes...but you know how her home-life is. She doesn't have the authority around to give any. So..." Carl mumbled in agreement.

"Alright," he added, "I will. I'll figure something quick for her make-up and then have something better for the future ones."

"Thank-you, Carl," David said, giving a small smile.

"No problem boss. And I'll finish _Game of Thrones_ over the weekend too!"

"You do that," the principal chuckled as Mr. Kalvin strode out of the room. He tapped his fingers against the edge of his desk and hummed in thought, his eyes landing on a small picture besides a stack of papers. Her toothy, youthful smile remained frozen with her small, pink dress and curled, red hair. And while he still saw that little girl in his daughter everyday, David missed how it was then. Everything was less complicated. He sighed, and murmured, "Oh Bonnie," with a smile. For the rest of the hour, he was locked in memory lane, revisiting the more stress-free and cheerful times.

**. . .**

"Do you think you're ready?" Marceline turned to Bonnibel, who sat on her bed. She nodded, though her answer wasn't all that sure. "You're doing really well studying," Bonnie assured.

"Yeah... I'm just nervous I'll somehow fuck it up."

There was a hand on her lap. "It'll be fine. If anything, there's other tests to make this one up. And he drops the lowest one, remember?"

"Right...yeah. Thanks." Bonnibel checked her watch, and immediately sat up.

"Oh, I told my mom I'd be home at six-thirty."

Marceline got to her feet and looked around. Why didn't she have a clock again? Right, because it was smashed whenever she was shit-faced. (It wasn't a good night.) "What time is it?"

"Five-fifty." Bonnibel reached for her shoes and slipped them on. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. I promise."

"Are you sure?" The ginger nodded, and bade Marceline a good night. She sighed once the front door had closed, Bonnibel's notes in her hands. They were much neater than her own, which she told herself she'd rewrite. Sometime. Maybe with Bonnibel. Marceline felt her lips twitch at the fleeting thought. Setting the notebook down, Marceline gazed across the room. She narrowed her eyes towards the pink Vans jacket and whispered, "Damn it."

"What?"

She turned to the door. Marshall stood in the middle of the hall, perked. Marceline swore he had bat-ears. "Nothing. Bonnie just left her jacket. I'll bring it to her tomorrow."

"Oh. Alright. Are you studying?"

"Yup," Marceline said, raising the notebook. "Until I pass out."

"Good for you."

**. . .**

The one thing she didn't like about her late schedule was because of situations like this: She had to go to school extra early—not just at eight—to retake the test. _At least the parking lot won't be a nightmare_ , she thought to herself. Marceline eased the brakes, and briefly checked her rearview mirror. Her empty seats were the first thing that came to mind. "Shit," she grumbled. She forgot Bonnibel's jacket. With a sigh, Marceline pulled her car to the school's entrance, right off of the intersection. She parked her car and locked it, then jogged straight to the double doors. As her navigation through the school had gotten better—since she had missed nearly half of the days last year—Marceline had found Mr. Kalvin's classroom almost immediately.

And there was one other student retaking the test. He glanced at her, unsure, and dropped his eyes to the ground. Marceline waited in silence, too used to the nervous glances to do anything. After a few minutes, Mr. Kalvin came with his keys, and opened the door for the two of them. "Alright. Josh, you go to that corner while I get the tests and you..." He thought for a moment as he strode to his desk. Mr. Kalvin waved her over, holding a familiar packet. "Why don't you sit here, away from Josh?" She sat in the same corner she did in class, and waited. As he went to hand Josh the test, Marceline felt nervous. She swallowed as her hands trembled slightly before clenching them. To her side, there was an empty space that she felt shouldn't be there; of course, Bonnibel probably wasn't done eating her breakfast yet, let alone driving to school.

"Alright Marceline." She turned around to find Carl with her test. "Here you go, just mark the answers and hand it to me when you're done."

Marceline frowned, and turned over the packet. "Where's...the scantron?" she asked slowly.

He paused and then went to his knees beside her desk. "Principal Boston," Carl started, his voice low, "spoke to me Friday about the test and what he was told by Bonnibel. Just write on this packet—don't worry about it—and hand it in. I'll grade it manually. Then we can talk before the next test to see what we can do in the future."

"O-okay," she mumbled, adding, "Thanks."

"No problem. And good luck." Mr. Kalvin went back to his desk, and Marceline felt some of the weight on her shoulders slip off. The test didn't seem so daunting any longer. She took a deep breath, and saw that her name had been already written on the top corner, in sharpie. Marceline exhaled, and slowly made her way through the pages.

**. . .**

Marceline whistled as she stepped out of her car. She was thoroughly impressed with the Boston Estate, to say the least. Even the steps leading to the front door—cracked and somewhat weathered in places—appeared to be worth more than her house. As she glanced around, noting the long line of cars parked along the hedges, Marceline rung the doorbell. She fiddled with the sleeve of Bonnie's jacket as she waited. It took a minute, but the door was answered.

"Oh hello, who are you?"

Marceline looked to the door. Other than the hair, she figured Bonnibel took a lot from her mother: long, straight nose, round face, cold eyes and full lips. Elena was dressed in a long grown, one that would be considered too casual for any wealthy party—but still one that'd make Marceline's wallet weep.

"Marceline," she answered. "Bonnie left her jacket at my house."

"Oh..." Mrs. Boston smiled politely. "So you're Marceline. I think you'd best give it to her yourself then. She'll be in her room...maybe the roof." While Marceline furrowed her brows in confusion, she thanked the woman and stepped inside. "Her room's upstairs to the left, last door on the right."

"Thanks," she said again. Mrs. Boston, after she shut the door, hurried off back to the gathering clearly in the kitchen with chattering voices and dishes clattering. Marceline paid no mind, instead striding up the stairs with eyes still flooding to pictures hanging and large windows. At the last step, she jerked, nearly running right into a blue suit. "Sorry," she mumbled, staring up at Peps. "Wait, you're a..."

"Butler? Yes," he confirmed, analyzing her. "And are you Marceline?" She nodded. Peps grinned. "I heard a lot about you." Marceline pursed her lips and scowled slightly, Peps gliding down the stairs. What he heard couldn't have been good. (She wasn't wrong.) To Mrs. Boston's instructions, Marceline walked, quickly finding herself in a pink room. Marceline wasn't surprised with what she found—except _maybe_ the pink walls: everything neat and tidy, shelves stuffed full of books and a desk with homework put in crisp piles.

But there wasn't Bonnie. "Probably the roof," Marceline whispered, instinctively striding to the open window. She stuck her head out, and looked at an old, black ladder. Marceline debated whether or not to bring the jacket with her, and just set it on the bed. Her eyes swept around the room, picking out little details that she'd missed before: a drawer almost shut, a backpack not zipped, trash not thrown out.

And the air from the window was cold. Marceline held the jacket to her chest. Even she was cold with two layers. In a quick, decided motion, Marceline swung the jacket over her shoulder and stepped onto the ladder. It held strong even with the chipped paint and rust. Marceline clambered up until her head poked at the top of the roof, and it was then something had hit her. She sniffed just in case she was wrong (but that wasn't likely). It wasn't strong, or something that would alarm any passersby. Not unless they knew the smell instantly, like second-nature. Marceline eased herself onto the slanted roof, eyes wandering for Bonnibel. She scoured around before finding her around the corner. Marceline cleared her throat.

"Bonnie?"

She startled her, and eyes followed the cigarette that was flung across the night's sky, still lit. "Shit..." Bonnie hissed, watching as it landed onto a porch below. Marceline didn't look down, not while she studied the smoke cradling Bonnie's cheeks. When the last of it was exhaled, Bonnibel asked, a nervous tremor in her voice, "What are you doing here?"

"Your mom let me in," Marceline answered, "and I have your jacket." She held it up. "Do you..." she murmured as Bonnibel clutched her thin sleeves around her biceps. "Do you want it?" Bonnie remained a deer caught in headlights. Slowly, after a moment, she nodded. Bonnibel tugged it over her head as Marceline sat down beside her. Once she pulled the hood back, she jerked. Marceline gazed down at the pail hanging from the drain. She tapped the side, hearing a dull echo as the bodies of used cigarettes remained motionless.

Bonnie snapped, "Stop that!" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just...stop that. You don't need to rub it in."

Marceline put her hands to her lap. "How long?"

"What?"

"Oh please, you know."

Bonnie stared at Marceline, expecting to find a long, crooked smirk, or a humorous show of teeth. Maybe even a glint in her eyes. Well, there was a glint, but that was more due to the moon than anything else. She was dumbfounded to find not a single crack of a grin on Marceline. For the first time, she thought that Marceline looked tired, or even _worn_. Perhaps both. Bonnie swallowed, and brought her knees to her chin. "Since I moved here..."

"And that was what?" Marceline asked, adding, "You were the new student in sophomore year, right?"

"Yours or mine?"

"Yours." Bonnie nodded, her throat beginning to throb. Her shock was starting to ebb away, leaving her eyes to sting and tension in her chest to rise. "Hey..." Marceline whispered softly.

"Don't tell anyone," she whispered. "Please."

"Does anybody else know?" Bonnie nodded again, wiping her eyes. Marceline didn't speak, but watched her.

There was a sniff, and then, "My mom found my stash last year and, and told my dad." She choked, heaving a shaken breath. Marceline edged closer, and put an arm around her. Bonnie jerked in her embrace, but not for any reason Marceline thought. She liked it. It felt more comforting than the smoke she just threw, or the dead ones in the bucket. Bonnibel swallowed, and continued: "And...and that's why my parents had me go through those ADHD tests."

"And that's why he's mad now?"

Bonnibel paused in the middle of her head shaking, and answered, "I...don't know. Maybe. Part of it's because my grades were slipping towards the end of last year—and I'm talking about low A's and high B's."

"That's not that bad."

"I know. That's what I got all through middle school and half of freshman year. But then GPA...and Harvard or Hale's what we've been looking at. The cigarettes help me focus," Bonnie said. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "But no... He's mad because I— I lost seven-thousand dollars like—"she snapped her fingers"—that."

"How?" Marceline asked curiously.

Bonnie gasped a whine. "I'm such a failure." Marceline moved closer, their hips connected and sides together. "I'm mean, I didn't _mean_ to. It was an accident. He sent me with his debit card to an ATM and—and." She sobbed lightly, hands to her knees. "Somebody jumped me and I ran away with the card, but I forgot to... I don't know." She couldn't bring any more words out, not with the anvil at her chest. After a few minutes, Bonnie added in a soft whisper, "And I tried getting money over the summer and got a few hundred dollars but my dad said that I had to enter the contest at the end of the year and win first prize in order for him to get back the money."

"Didn't you last year?"

"At the school, but I'm talking regionals, Marcy," she said quietly. Marceline, while stroking Bonnie's arm, felt her chest freeze. _Marcy..._ Oh how many people in her life called her that, one? Two? Well, now three?

"Shit. You'll do it though. I know you will."

Bonnie snorted a laugh—a hollow, dry laugh—and mumbled, "That's what my dad said and I didn't even go through county." Everything grew quiet for a long time. Neither knew what to say, or how to say it. So Marceline just let the night speak for her. Stars twinkled, the moon shone and small animals, if you listened just closely, chirped in the distance. Even the laughter downstairs said what was needed. She watched Bonnie for a few times, how her hair waved with the light breeze, the dress just as nice as her mother's pulled from underneath the jacket.

Then there was a point where she felt it was too long of a silence.

She cleared her throat and murmured, "I'm kind of the opposite." Bonnibel turned to her. "Hell," Marceline laughed quietly, glad to find grey eyes dry, "I've never smoked."

"Really?"

Marceline shook her head. "I don't trust myself with cigarettes. I love the smell so much. Which is why I knew you were smoking before I saw you." Bonnibel shifted uneasily. "But no, alcohol's always been my deal."

"Are you clean?" Bonnie asked.

"Yeah. The longest I've been too." Marceline chuckled bitterly. She held up her fingers. "Two months and a few days. Night after the fourth, actually."

"So those DUI's?"

"Five DUI's, drunken assault at a bar...let's see. Underaged drinking, actually three assaults and, er, yeah. Pretty much all of them drinking related." She glanced towards Bonnie, who clearly hadn't heard of the other offenses, save for the obvious and DUI's. "Nothing bad, I swear... Never crashed while drinking and driving, or did it when anybody was around, and the assaults were just fights, which a couple of them the other people were charged too." Marceline sighed; like explaining would make it better. "Most of it was out-of-state and," she continued explaining anyhow, "I don't know...the circumstances I landed myself in were lucky?" She scoffed a laugh. "It's a wonder, honestly, how I'm able to walk around here, let alone go to school."

Bonnibel eased her legs over the edge of the roof. She planted her one hand to her side, because God forbid her grip Marceline's thigh. She pondered for a moment, digesting the apparent disasters Marceline landed herself in. She didn't want that. "Why drink?"

"Why smoke?" Marceline countered. "Can't say 'ease of access', and there's a plethora of ways to get focused."

Bonnie couldn't argue. Instead, she allowed another silence to pass before announcing, "I want to stop. For good."

"Same here," Marceline responded. "Did you stop before?"

There was a nod. "During the summer but I started again once school started... And, it's worse."

"Really?" Marceline murmured. "Even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to go back. But, I don't know if I'd be worse." She laughed hoarsely. "I was insane last year. My brother even hid the bottles..." _And maybe I could find it..._ An idea dawned on her, and she eased a smile. "What if we quit together? Forever?" Bonnie frowned curiously. "Think about it." As she stripped herself from the roof and Bonnibel, Marceline felt her back crack.

"Wait." Marceline halted in the middle of the roof, doing a balancing act between the two slanted sides. Bonnie strode forward at a much more leisurely pace; after all, she had to have spent hours at a time doing so. "Can we talk more? Over a cupcake? There's some downstairs..." Marceline paused.

"Cupcake?"

Bonnie's cheeks tinted pink. "Y-yeah. My birthday's on Saturday and some family won't be here... And my parents are working. So they're celebrating tonight."

Marceline smiled.

"Sure."


	6. Chapter 6

**_No One's Perspective_ ** **_-_ **

The buzzing of her phone was what she woke up to. Bonnie groaned, and reached for the electronic device. She immediately regretted turning it on, rapidly blinking in the bright light. Once the brightness setting was lowered, she swiped through the several messages left.

**Auntie Jamie:**  
**Happy birthday my little angel!**   
**You're so grown up! Love you**   
**lots! xoxo**

**Mom:**  
**I'm sorry I couldn't be there**   
**today. Love you and happy**   
**18th! See you tomorrow!**   


**Dad:**  
**You're already 18. Man time flies.**   
**I'll see you tonight! Love you!**   


Bonnibel smiled, and closed her phone before sitting upright. She stretched before sauntering towards her window. The clouds were grey, perhaps foreshadowing the lonely day ahead. _At least there will be Peps_ , she silently reminded herself. With a sigh, Bonnie walked into her bathroom door, and quickly fixed herself a shower. As the water grew hot, she casted her clothes to the hamper. Before she made her way to the shower, Bonnibel caught her reflection and furrowed her brows at the dark stretch marks along her thighs. There was only an exhale before she stepped into the shower.

She stood in there for a while, lazily washing her hair, and scrubbing her skin. The only reason why Bonnie eventually came out was because her skin was screaming against the scalding water. With her towel around her body, Bonnie then wandered into her bedroom for her dresser to find her phone buzzing once again. Curiously, she checked it. A brief, gentle smile was her response: Marceline.

**Marceline:**  
**Hey. so that idea I had Wednesday?**   
**lets do it today.**

_**When?** _

The answer came quickly, and it left Bonnibel hastily reaching for her clothes, ignoring her towel:

**Marceline:  
** **Now. your butler just let me in.**

Within a few minutes, Bonnibel was at the stairs, overlooking the entrance to her fine home. Marceline was indeed already inside, Peps setting his coat and hat on the few stands by the door. "Oh, good morning, eighteen-er! How's it going so far?" he greeted with a cheery grin.

"Good," she replied. "Morning you two."

"Are you both doing something today?" Peps asked.

"Yep," Marceline said as Bonnie stepped down the stairs. "We'll have to go to your room and get everything out."

Bonnibel nodded, guilt pooling at her gut. "What...are we going to do with it?"

Marceline shrugged simply. "Burn it."

"What?" Peps stole the question right out of Bonnibel's mouth. "Hold on," he said, "what's going on exactly?" The two girls looked at the man, then to each other.

"He could help actually," Bonnie murmured, humiliation blossoming across her cheeks. "I—" she clarified once seeing Marceline's lost expression, "I have a lot and he doesn't clean that thoroughly."

"Now _excuse_ me?" The two were on a mission, it seemed, leaving the poor butler down the stairs. "Wait, Bonnibel? What?" He clambered up the stairs quickly, following the girls closely. Bonnie stood at her nightstand, and glanced at the two nervously. At the sight of Marceline's comforting gaze and Pep's innocent curiosity, she pulled open the drawer. There was nothing but cigarette boxes, and a green lighter. Bonnie dashed away as Marceline picked up the lighter.

"What the hell? How many—" Marceline, once breaking her stare from the drawer and towards the rest of the room, found herself lost for words. She wasn't alone with Peps beside her.

Bonnibel stood, in the center, smaller and frailer than usual. She cupped her mouth with her eyes stinging, gazing around the mess. The bed mattress was moved, revealing around ten boxes. The underwear drawer was opened, as was her desk drawer, all with boxes and boxes of cigarettes. "Oh Bonnie," Marceline breathed, stepping towards the ginger. Her arms wrapped around the girl, who quivered against her.

"I- I never meant for it to be this bad... I didn't need some many."

"It's always like that," Marceline whispered as Bonnie's face nuzzled against her neck. With Bonnibel still indulging herself in the embrace, Marceline watched Peps carefully pick up a single, wrapped box.

"Burn it..." he whispered. "All of it?"

"With beer," Marceline added, to which Bonnibel relaxed against the hum of her voice deep in her chest. Peps' eyes grew wide. "Not hers," she quickly demystified, "mine."

"Oh," he mumbled slowly. "So, this is good. Very good." Marceline nodded. The butler then smiled gently, and made his way towards the two of them. He wrapped his arms around them both, and muttered, "Is this another secret the butler has to keep?" Bonnie nodded against Marceline's warm shoulder. Peps exhaled quietly. "Alright. I'll keep it until I can't."

"Okay. Thank-you," Bonnie whispered. She parted from the embrace, and gazed at both Peps and Marceline. "Both of you, thank-you."

**. . .**

Marceline's car was, above all else, loyal. Bonnibel was able to glance at the mileage and determined that how smoothly the set of wheels rolled was unfathomable—which even then was an understatement. It was obvious at it was once a sleek, black Plymouth. However, with the varying sized scratches all across the car—including a long, deep key mark along the left side—the chipped paint and screeches of axels with every corner had proven that its prime had passed. And yet, Marceline's car didn't hesitate once the key was in the ignition, nor did the brakes fail to run smoothly.

With the piles of cigarettes in the back seat, a sour taste grew in Bonnibel's mouth. A strong tobacco aroma had seeped into the car, latching itself for, what Bonnie estimated, months. She guiltily swallowed and tried not to think about it, about how the smell almost made her tongue water.

And soon, Marceline's house was around a corner, and then the Plymouth was parked beside the curb. Wordlessly, the two carried the stash of cigarettes to the front door where Marceline fumbled with the keys for a moment. With the door unlocked, the two then ventured towards the back room. At the sight of all the previously hidden bottles of alcohol, Bonnibel felt better about her own stash.

"Where were they?" she asked.

"In...uh, in the master bedroom." Marceline gave a quick glance over her shoulder towards Bonnibel. "Marshall knew I won't go in there." Even though she wanted to ask, prod for a clearer explanation, Bonnie kept quiet.

Instead, she murmured, "So are we going to the backyard."

A wry smirk then creased Marceline's cheeks. "No. We're going to do it on the couch and set the place on fire." Bonnie rolled her eyes as Marceline snickered. "Come on," she laughed, "I already set everything up. We can just throw those in—" Marceline pointed towards the boxes of cigarettes "—and dump the beer onto them."

"And hope we don't explode?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"Marceline! I don't want to catch on fire!" Bonnie scoffed.

With another twisted smile, Marceline said, "And you won't. I'll be with you." Bonnibel should've felt worried—especially with that gleam in those eyes, hungry for a little excitement. And yet, she wasn't. Not a single bit. While Bonnie carried her cigarettes to a brick circle in the middle of the backyard, Marceline took responsibility of all the bottles. Bonnibel felt more relieved to find that the grass and weeds in the backyard weren't dry, but fresh. At the stone circle, she dropped all of the boxes in the middle, forming a small mound.

Back and forth they went, spilling their sins into the center of red bricks until the last drop of liquor was poured in, and the last box chucked over Bonnie's shoulder. "I think that'll do," Marceline said.

Bonnibel's eyes lingered on the trees hugging the backyard. "Are you sure they will be fine?" she asked for the third time now.

"Yeah," Marceline replied. "We've had bigger bonfires here. People would put weed and shit in there too."

"Jesus."

Marceline shrugged. "A lot's happened here. Anyway, do you have the lighter?"

"Yeah." Bonnie handed the green pocket lighter over. "Wait, do we have anything to light it with?"

"The bonfire?"

"Well, I mean you can't just go over there and use the lighter on that," Bonnie said pointedly.

Marceline nodded and said, "I know." Before Bonnibel could respond, she darted towards the bricks with a wicked idea in her head. She scooped a bottle left on the side, and then snatched a box of cigarettes. Bonnibel watched in confusion as Marceline slid cigarettes in the bottle one-by-one, except for a single stick. Dark eyes gleamed mischievously before she lit the last cigarette.

"What are you doing?!" Marcy toyed with the bottle as the last cigarette, lit, was dropped in. She watched as Bonnibel squirmed in her place, grinning victoriously. "Marceline, what are you doing? No, get away from me, don't do that!"

"What?" Marceline snickered, holding the bottle in her right hand. "This?" Bonnie staggered back. "It's okay, it's just a little flame."

"Yeah. I know. But..."

"But what? It's not going to hurt you. Watch." The bottle was thrown at the circle of bricks. Bonnie flinched as the glass shattered, and warm colors blossoming amongst the liquor-drenched cigarettes. Marceline sauntered back towards Bonnibel, and eased an arm around her shoulder. "See? You're safe with me."

Bonnie gave a suspicious glance. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Hey, are you going to need this anymore?" The green lighter was held up. The ginger shook her head. "Well, time to get rid of it."

"Wait, no! Not like tha—"

Without a second thought, the lighter was thrown towards the bricks, were the fire immediately started to spit and sizzle. Bonnibel huddled towards Marceline's side as the fire—while not threatening the trees or them—and jerked every time a flame licked the sides of the bricks, leaving a trail of black.

To Marceline's quiet laughs, though, she felt her body relax. As the fire burned their habits away, Bonnie found the flames to be enchanting against the cold, murky sky.

**. . .**

"Wait, where are we going?"

Marceline shrugged. "Downtown. There's something else we need to do." Bonnie nodded, though didn't comment. She just remained confused, especially when they pulled into a parking lot, right in front of a line of stores: a nail salon, several cafés, a bookstore, a candy shop, clothing store, thrift store and something which Bonnie couldn't properly see. She followed Marceline as the car locked behind them, and tugged on her coat as a gust of cold wind wafted passed. Marceline held the door to a store that Bonnibel found herself thankful for, especially with the mellow, cinnamon aroma and warm, cozy air.

A bell jingled as Marceline let the door shut behind them. The candy shop.

Her eyes travelled around the shop walls, and the greens, blues and pinks in stripes that decorated them. "Wha…?" she mumbled, pausing in the middle of the store. It appeared much larger than it had outside, with the stairs leading to another room to the right, and then one ahead. And with the gloomy weather just lurking from the window, the homely lamps sprinkled about only added to the whimsical shop. "Why are we— Marceline?" She whipped around, only to find her friend gone. She'd gone in the store, right?

Right?

Bonnie set forth on her new mission, eyes scanning the shelves and racks of sweets. She grumbled to herself, wondering if there was any way she'd be able to snag the bells from the front door, then tie them to Marceline. Before she could debate that further, however, there was a tug at her elbow. She turned to find a crooked smirk. Bonnie grinned. "Hey. So why are we here?"

"Part two of the plan."

"Okay, in a candy shop?" Marceline nodded, then guided her through the shop with a hand. As soon as Bonnibel landed her gaze upon the back corner, she stifled a laugh. "God, you can't be serious."

There was a chortle. "What?"

Bonnie picked up a red box and read aloud, "'Victory Candy?' You can't be serious. You want me to replace cigarettes with cigarettes?" At that, Marceline laughed out loud.

"There's gum and sugar sticks." She stuffed her hands in her jean pockets. "The friend I was telling you about replaced beer with lemonade. It worked like a charm for him. He couldn't go cold turkey before, so he went with it and has been clean for fifteen years now."

"But what about the lemonade?"

"What?"

"Did he get addicted to _that_?"

Marceline pondered, then shook her head. "Maybe he struggled in the beginning, but he said he pops a can or bottle every other day now." Both stood together, hands in their pockets. Candy cigarette boxes sat there, waiting for a hand to reach and sacrifice fifty cents for. Bonnibel chewed her bottom lip. It really hadn't seemed like a bad idea. It wasn't like she _desperately_ wanted cigarettes to begin with—which a box-or-three drained every week would beg to differ. "So...how many?"

Bonnie analyzed the bunch. Then she picked up a cardboard box, containing a whole, small shipment. "Get the candy sticks too," she said over her shoulder. Marceline breathed another laugh, and picked up another large container. She glanced back, smiling at the huge craters in the wall.

At the cash register, there was a hearty old chuckle. "Will that be all?" Bonnie shook her head as Marceline set down the other box. "Good lord, ladies," a man with an impressive, white mustache grinned, "you sure you want all this?"

The two locked eyes. "Sure do," Marceline answered.

The man—Muto by the name tag—scanned the two boxes. "Alright, that'll be sixteen dollars." Bonnibel began reaching for her small purse when Marceline had already handed a twenty dollar bill.

As Muto accepted the money, Bonnie began to argue. "Hey, my idea, I'll pay," Marceline said simply.

"Oh, thanks," Bonnie replied meekly. Once the change was received, both of the girls carried the boxes into the backseat of the car. And then they were off to another store, a couple streets down. As the two got out of the car, Bonnie asked, "So what are we doing now?"

"Getting my things," Marceline answered.

"Which is...?"

**. . .**

Marceline eased back into her chair, sipping on a bottle of IBC root beer. She eyed Bonnibel, who popped a small bubble of pink as she chewed. "You know," she started, "pink _does_ suit you."

Bonnie frowned, but shrugged. "I get that a lot, actually. My parents used to dress me up in pink all the time."

There was a snort. "Really?"

"Yeah," she answered. Both grew quiet, taking in the warm air circulating throughout the car. A light drizzle was tapping against the window, and the trees they had parked in front of swayed in the wind. Even though the day was dark and mucky, it was good. Bonnibel glanced to Marceline, who comfortably sipped her alternative in a bottle. Yeah, it was good.

After a few moments, there was a murmur: "Happy birthday."

Bonnie didn't just glance at Marceline that time. "You...remembered?"

"Of course. You only told me Wednesday."

She nodded. "Would you have—" Bonnie swallowed, careful not to down the lump of cigarette gum. "Would you have if mine was later in the year?"

"By how much?"

Bonnibel shrugged. "Summer?" Marceline didn't answer, but only took a long draw from the bottle. The glint in her eye, though, made something in Bonnie's chest lurch. She pursed a smile anyway, and glanced outside the window.

Yes, a good day. Maybe even great.


End file.
